


11, 12, 17 (Count From 30)

by secondrobin



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Under the Red Hood
Genre: Batfamily Feels, Canonical Character Death, Gen, Movie Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-28
Updated: 2017-04-28
Packaged: 2018-10-24 23:12:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10751739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondrobin/pseuds/secondrobin
Summary: 4/27/11: Jason Todd gets ice cream with his father and brother4/27/12:  Jason Todd lies on the floor of a warehouse, listening to the ticking countdown of a bomb.4/27/17:  Jason Todd's plans to lay alone and depressed in his apartment are rudely interrupted.





	11, 12, 17 (Count From 30)

**Author's Note:**

> Slightly late fic for the anniversary of Jason's death. Enjoy!

**April 27 th, 2011**

“No! No! Go away! Get away from me!” Jason screeched, skidding down the hallway. He was almost to the door. He’d be safe in just a few more—

 _Oomph._ His ankle, his ankle was being grabbed, but the door was almost—

He fell to the ground, his pursuer collapsing on top of him.

“No!” he shrieked.

“Stop being so whiny!” Dick laughed, shifting to a more comfortable position on top of his younger brother. Jason groaned, staring at the few feet separating him from the door that would have marked his victory.

“You cheated!”

“Once again, Jay, being taller than you isn’t cheating.”

Jason shifted enough to glare at Dick, and Dick stuck his tongue out at him. Jason was only able to keep his glare for a few more seconds before he burst into laughter, prompting his older brother to join him.

“You should buy me ice cream even though I lost,” Jason said after a moment, letting his head fall back onto the ground.

“And why’s that?”

“Because you’re going back to New York tomorrow and…” Jason put on his best pout. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“You’re literally coming up to see me next week!” Dick protested, though Jason knew from his grin that he had already won.

“I bet we could get Bruce to come with us.”

Dick’s smile fell. He sat up, disentangling himself from Jason to lean against the wall. “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, little wing. Things between me and B are… a little tense right now.”

“You two are fighting, you mean,” Jason translated, pushing himself off the ground to sit next to Dick. “Did he do something?”

Dick sighed. “Old stuff, Jaybird. Nothing you should worry about, okay?”

Jason frowned, looking Dick over carefully. A moment passed before he scrambled to his feet, gesturing for Dick to remain seated. “Wait _right here,_ okay?”

Dick stared at him, brow furrowed. “Okay?”

**April 27 th, 2017**

Jason stared at the ceiling.

He had been staring at the ceiling for about six hours.

It’s not like he had anything better to do. It’s not like he had anywhere to be.

He didn’t patrol on April 27th. He had, in what he considered a moment of weakness, admitted to the others that going out on this day made him nervous. They understood. They took turns covering Crime Alley for him.

His phone rang.

His phone had been ringing regularly for about six hours.

He ignored it.

His window was sliding open.

_His window was sliding open._

Jason leapt out of bed, grabbing the gun on his nightstand as he did. Dark. He had kept the lights off all day, that was stupid—no time to think. He aimed the gun, safety off—

“Little wing, it’s just me,” a voice hissed through the darkness.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Jason muttered, putting the safety back on his gun before sitting on the edge of his bed. “What the hell, Dick? I almost shot you.”

“I _noticed._ ” Dick sat next to him, setting a plastic grocery bag on the ground and peeling off his domino. “I’ve been calling you all day, champ.”

“I didn’t feel like talking. Still don’t, actually.” He glanced down at the bag between Dick’s feet. “What’ve you got there and is it alcoholic?”

“You’re underage, Jay.”

“Yes, as my new fake I.D. proudly proclaims, thanks." He eyed the bag. “I haven’t been able to even enter liquor stores since you made me get one with my real birthdate.”

Dick rolled his eyes as he bent down to pick up the bag. “You hate drinking, anyway, and you hate getting drunk more.”

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

Dick rolled his eyes again, pulling out a carton from the bag and holding it out for Jason. “It’s just ice cream, sorry. Though, to be fair, it _is_ actually bourbon brown butter.”

“I don’t need ice cream.” He took it anyway. “Thanks.”

“Anytime, little wing. And, hey—”

“Dick.”

“I’m just—” Dick tried to make eye contact with him. Jason kept his gaze fixed very pointedly on his shoes. “I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to—”

“I don’t.”

“—you can talk to me.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” Jason set the tub of ice cream on his bed so he could fiddle with the leather bracelet on his right wrist. He nearly winced as the rough leather scraped over the raw skin, irritating the same spots he had run the bracelet over hundreds of times in the past hours. “I don’t really _do_ talking about my feelings, Dickie. I’ve been doing the sessions with Dr. Thompkins like Bruce asked, that’s about as much as I’ve got in me every week.”

“Leslie said that you skipped this week’s session,” Dick said quietly. Jason shrugged.

“She knows what today is. She would’ve tried to ask about my feelings.”

Dick groaned. “Jason Peter, she’s acting as your therapist, that’s her _job_.”

“Well, it sucks,” Jason mumbled. “Look, I’m...” he took in a deep breath. “I’m trying, okay? But I just—not this week.”

“… Yeah.” Dick sighed, reaching out to touch Jason’s arm. Jason flinched, and Dick pulled back his hand. “Yeah, that’s fair.” He stood, slipping his mask back on. “I’m here if you—don’t roll your eyes, jackass—I’m here if you need me, okay?”

“… Okay.”

Dick smiled, ruffling Jason’s hair before turning and leaping back out the window. Jason rolled his eyes, standing up to close it. “Close the window after yourself next time, asshole!” he called out onto the street, rolling his eyes when all he received in return was a laugh. Window firmly shut, Jason collapsed back into his bed, returning to staring at his ceiling.

An hour later, sleep came.

**April 27 th, 2012**

Jason Todd could barely conceive anything beyond blinding, all-consuming, overwhelming pain.

He laid on the floor of the warehouse, wincing every time he heard a sound and waiting for the crowbar to hit again. It didn’t come. Joker was really gone, then. Jason slowly lifted his head, moaning as he did.

The door. The door was so close but so impossibly far. Still. Bruce Wayne didn’t raise a quitter. Jason began to crawl towards the door. He could barely move his legs. He relied on his arms, nails starting to break even through his gloves as he dug them into the cement floor to drag his aching body forward inch by inch.

After what felt like hours, he was nearly there. Joker had left the door unlocked, even cracked open, he could escape—

Jason heard ticking.

Jason turned his head to see a glowing display counting rapidly down from thirty, and Jason realized that he was going to die.

**April 27 th, 2017**

Jason woke very suddenly to his ringtone playing yet again. He groaned, hand groping around on his side table (and knocking a cup of water onto the floor, awesome) until he felt his phone. “What,” he muttered flatly.

“Master Jason.”

Oh, Jesus. Those bastards. Those _bastards_ wanted something from him, and they sent the one person everyone in their damn family listened to because they knew that not even Jason could say no to him. “Hey, Alfred,” he said with forced cheer. “What’s up?”

“Your presence is requested at the manor.”

Jason closed his eyes, letting out a deep breath. “It’s not really a good time, Alfie.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather imperative that you get here at once. It… involves Master Damian.”

“What?” Jason bolted up, pulling clothes on as he spoke. “What happened?”

“It’s unwise to go into any further details over the phone.” Family code for _Bat stuff, can’t talk over an unsecured line_. “Shall I come to get you, or will you be able to arrange your own transportation?”

“I’m getting on my bike now. Be there in 15.”

“I humbly request that you do _not_ break the speed limit.”

“Be there in 25.”

**April 27 th, 2011**

“Using Alfred was a low blow,” Dick muttered from the passenger seat of Bruce’s car. Jason grinned from the backseat.

“Yeah, but it _worked._ ”

Dick’s retort was cut short as the driver’s door opened and Bruce climbed in. “Where are we going, then?” he asked with the weary look in his eyes of somebody who just received a long and passive-aggressive talk from Alfred.

“Ice cream,” Jason grinned. “Before Dick goes back to New York forever.”

“New York is 45 minutes away and you’re seeing him next week.”

“ _Forever_.”

**April 27 th, 2017**

Jason pulled up to the manor, tucking his motorcycle helmet under his arm as he ran inside. “What’s wrong? Where’s Dami? Is he—” Jay froze as he skidded into the living room. “What the hell.”

Dick, Tim, Steph, Barbara, Duke, Cass, Damian, Alfred, and Bruce were all arranged across couches and the floor in the living room, surrounded by blankets and soda and popcorn. The Disney logo was paused on the TV screen, ready to launch into whatever movie they had decided on.

“Jay!” Babs grinned as everyone turned to look at him. “You made it!”

Jason shot Barbara a strained smile, offering her a quick greeting before turning to Alfred. “Alfred! You told me Damian was hurt!”

“You attempted to get Todd to join us by claiming I was injured?” Damian blinked, looking over at Alfred.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Master Jason,” Alfred replied primly, “All I said was that he was involved, and that it would be unwise to discuss the details over the phone. As you likely wouldn’t have come had I given full details then, that remains true.”

Jason groaned, turning to his older brother. “Dick, I told you I didn’t want to talk.”

“This wasn’t Dick’s idea, Jay, it was mine.”

Jason stared at Bruce, trying to make sense of what he had just said. “Come again?”

Bruce carefully stood from his spot between Cass and Tim, walking out towards the hallway and gesturing for Jason to follow him.

“Why did you tell him I was injured?” Damian asked with a furrowed brow as Jason and Bruce left the room. “Why would you assume that would convince him to come here? He hates me.”

“Clearly not, babyboo,” Steph grinned.

Jason sighed, leaning on the wall. “What’s this about, Bruce?”

“I know you don’t like to talk about your feelings.” Bruce exhaled, fist curling gently at his side. “I’m sure I’m at least partially to blame for that. I know you don’t like talking, and I don’t want you to feel like you have to if you’re not ready. But… I don’t want you to be alone today, Jay. Stewing alone in your grief and trauma in a dark room just leads to—”

“Dressing up as a bat and beating up criminals?”

“Yes.”

Jason frowned, glancing away. Making fun of Bruce wasn’t as fun when he just agreed.

“So,” Bruce continued, “A compromise. A movie night. You won’t be alone, but you don’t have to talk about anything you’re feeling. Acceptable?”

Jason twisted his bracelet, taking in a deep breath. “Yeah. Acceptable.”

**April 27 th, 2011**

Without prompting or warning, Jason broke the silence on the ride home with a quiet “I wish you two wouldn’t fight so much.”

The two men in the front seat were silent, Bruce staring intently at the road as his grip tightened almost imperceptibly on the steering wheel. Dick fiddled with his hoodie string, staring out the window.

“Because,” Jason continued, “Bruce, you adopted me. _And_ you adopted Dick. You adopted us, so you’re our dad. Right?”

“Right,” he agreed after a moment.

“And me and Dick are brothers.”

“Right,” Dick said.

“And we’re both your sons. Right?”

Bruce glanced over at Dick, a look that would have hardly been noticed by most people. Dick Grayson was not most people, and he tugged sharply at his hoodie string. “Right,” Bruce said softly.

“So, you know what that makes us?”

“What?”

“A family.” Jason leaned forward. “And I know I’m not an expert on this, but I’ve heard that families are _supposed_ to get along. So… can’t you guys get along?”

Dick sighed, resting his forehead on the window. “It’s a little more complicated than that, little wing.”

“Can it not be for just tonight?”

Dick glanced over at Bruce, biting his lip. Bruce glanced over, just long to make eye contact with Dick. He turned his gaze back to the road and nodded. Dick nodded in return. “Yeah. Yeah, I think maybe it can.”

**April 27 th, 2012**

He was never going to see his family again. He was never going to see Dick or Alfred or Barbara or Bruce ever again. He was never going to go to school or get ice cream or spend the night at Dick’s apartment or crawl into dad’s bed after a nightmare ever again.

The timer was at 20 seconds, and Jason realized that there was one small blessing in the method of his death: he got to choose the last thing he ever thought of.

Jason Todd, 14 years old, curled up as well as he could manage and pulled his cape around himself like a blanket. Hot tears ran down his face, stinging in a gash from the upswing of the crowbar. He closed his eyes, and he thought of coming home after getting ice cream and curling up on the couch between Dick and Bruce and watching a movie. He thought of Dick’s arm curled protectively around him as he leaned his head against Bruce, a blanket draped around all of them as he fought to stay awake.

“Is he asleep?” Dick asked in a whisper. Jason wasn’t, but he didn’t say anything.

“I think so,” Bruce replied.

Dick sighed, idly running his hands through Jason’s hair. “I don’t _like_ fighting with you, you know. Especially not when it affects Jason.”

“I don’t like it either, Dick.” Bruce sighed. “But we always seem to find things to argue over, these days.” He paused, glanced down at the boy curled up at his side. “Do you remember when you were as small as Jason is now?”

“As small or as young? Because I was only that short when I was, like, eight.”

“Hey!” Jason protested sleepily. Dick laughed, ruffling his hair.

“Love you, little wing.”

The timer hit zero.

**April 27 th, 2017 **

Jason leaned against Bruce’s side, hastily going through mental justifications for the action ( _I’m tired, it’s dark, no one is looking, I think he’s asleep anyway_ ). Dick was pressed against his other side, Damian curled up partway in Dick’s lap while still leaving enough of him on the couch that he could insist he wasn’t. The film—the third of the evening—was near its end, the protagonists halfway through the final battle that everybody knew they would win. Jason yawned, letting his eyes close for just a moment before forcing them back open.

“Tired?” Bruce asked. Jason shook his head even as he yawned again. The hint of a smile on Bruce’s face was barely visible in the dark, but Jason didn’t have to look to know it was there.

“Uh… hey, listen, Bruce…” Jason yawned again. The hell with it, he could always use his exhaustion as an excuse for being vulnerable if questioned later. “Thank you. This was… nice.”

“I’m glad.” Bruce glanced briefly down at his son before returning his gaze to the screen. “I didn’t want you to have to be alone.”

Jason yawned again, letting his eyes slip close. “You’re a good dad,” he muttered, voice quiet enough that he was certain Bruce wouldn’t hear him.

Unseen in the darkness, Bruce smiled.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> http://second--robin.tumblr.com.


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